She waited outside like a patient little girl. Shuffling inside made her giggle; what the hell was he doing? Denver was always so careful about appearances, so much so that Maggie always thought it slightly absurd. He was delicate, spun from spider silk. He hated the water, preferred to be clothed, and was obsessed with looks. The two lovers were as different as they could be. But still, Maggie kept coming back. Why, she had no idea... but they worked, and he was comfortable.
The door opened again finally and a haggard looking Denver ushered her in. She followed, looking around. She understood why he felt embarrassed now, his home was a mess. But she refrained from saying anything to be polite. Denver had taken the bottles in, but she quickly snatched one from him and opened it. It smelled like wine, but then again Maggie wasn’t ever quite sure. Alcohol was not her forte.
“I’m not mad, you know,” she said quietly, before taking a large gulp of the stuff. She knew that she was probably going to finish off this bottle, so she motioned to the poodle-wolf to take one for his own. “At least, not anymore. I know it wasn’t your fault.” She walked over to him, maybe a little too close.
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